


From the Ashes

by KittyKenway



Series: A Dream of Spring - Jonerys One-Shots [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: After Season 8, F/M, Happy Ending, House Targaryen, Implied/Referenced Incest, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 19:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14900567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyKenway/pseuds/KittyKenway
Summary: From the ashes of the old world and the ruins of King's Landing, a new world will rise with Jon and Daenerys leading it as co-rulers, equals, and lovers. They just need to get through the coronation first...





	From the Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> A (very short) one-shot for 'A Dream of Spring' Jonerys Week Summer 2018 prompt numero uno: 'The Coronation' and my take on how it might turn out when everybody lives (but Cersei and pretty much all of King's Landing come to think of it...)

From amidst the dust and rubble of what had once been the city founded by their ancestors, two thrones had been forged anew. The sudden fury of wildfire had consumed the city and in its blaze had warped the Iron Throne, the focus of so much bloodshed and war, into a twisted and decrepit lump of metal, no longer good for anything. 

Daenerys had ordered the remnants of the throne to be discarded. With spring on the air and the winter snows beginning to melt away, her arrival into the former capital city had warranted a new start. The old King’s Landing was beyond repair, a gaping burnt crevice, inhabited only by dust and the spirits of those who had been caught in the inferno. Daenerys looked over what had been the city of her forefathers and let her tears fall onto the scorched ground.

Jon had left her and her men briefly to resolve matters in the south, while he flew north on Rhaegal. He had much to do, over-seeing the rebuilding of the Wall and the coronation of Sansa as Queen in the North. They may have vanquished the Night King and his undead armies, but they could not vanquish the seasons. As Sansa had wryly put it, before Daenerys had set off southwards from Winterfell: “Winter is coming.” Westeros remained stricken from the attack of the White Walkers, but, as history proved, they risked forgetting. Jon and Daenerys were adamant that the threat would never be forgotten.

While Jon helped in the North, Daenerys set about establishing a new capital, further along the Blackwater Rush. She had chosen not to name it, preferring rather to wait on her co-ruler’s opinion, but the growing settlement was soon named Queen’s Landing and it had only made Jon laugh when he had arrived, flustered and windswept, dropping down from Rhaegal’s side and into the arms of his wife. 

A small fort had been established at the site of the capital city, a temporary castle built up from wood. There were plans afoot to build one in stone - wood never proved to be the best of materials when there were dragons about - but it would do for now.

Daenerys had ordered that Jon was not to be disturbed while he rested, tending to him herself while he bathed, and ate, and then slept. She lay against his side while he slept, her head rising and falling with each breath that he took, her hand resting on his taut abdomen. All her life she had felt so alone, the last of her people. If only she had known that, half a world away, another dragon lived, buried beneath ice and snow. 

The news of his parentage had been a shock to both of them at first. It had been in the tense days before the Battle for the Dawn, when Jon’s brother, Bran, and his best friend, Sam, had revealed that not only was he not a bastard, but the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and his wife, Lyanna Stark. The revelation had proved earth shattering, nearly tearing their new-found relationship, fresh off of the boat from King’s Landing, apart. Jon had been furious, upset, horrified - his whole life, all that he knew of himself and who he was, had been a lie. He was a Targaryen, the son of the man who had been reviled for stealing away his mother. The man he had thought of as his father was his uncle, who had taken the secret to his grave rather than risk endangering Jon, and his half-siblings were cousins. His mother - the mother he would never know now - remained silent, her remaining secrets buried with her in the crypt beneath Winterfell. And the woman he loved, who had saved his men from the icy wastelands north of the Wall and had stood at his side in King’s Landing… well, she was his aunt.

Daenerys, meanwhile, had taken the revelation better, but it still had proved a hard tonic to swallow. She, the daughter of a brother and sister, had been raised knowing of the Targaryen marital traditions; she had half-expected to marry her fool of a brother, Viserys. But fate had dealt her another hand. What had proved more difficult for her to comprehend was that she was no longer the rightful heir to the throne. Her brother’s son held the greater claim and this had rankled her greatly.

It had taken the obliteration of King’s Landing and the sweeping southwards march of the Night King and his forces to remind them of what was truly important. Neither had expected to survive the Battle for the Dawn and yet they had - together.

The first signs of spring brought with it the chance to start anew. Within the fort’s Great Hall, two thrones had been carved from wood, two-intertwined dragons while a third rose up from behind them. The thrones stood at equal height, a sign of how things were going to be in this new world they were building together.

Daenerys could only keep the weight of duties away from Jon for so long, but morning came and with it came Davos knocking at the door, calling to them through the wood of the door that today was the day. Daenerys at first thought that Jon had slept through his wake-up call, but then came a deep groan from beneath her. She looked up, amused, to watch him rub the sleep from his eyes, cursing.

“It’s today, isn’t it,” he groaned.

She chuckled at that. 

“You’re lucky they didn’t stick the crown on you last night,” she said, with a lazy smile. “I could only hold them off so long.”

He sighed, before smiling, leaning down to take her lips with his, his hand slipping down to feel the neat swell of her belly. 

“We’ll be with you,” she whispered against his lips, her hand resting over his. “Every step of the way.”

The Great Hall was heaving with people, dignitaries from every inhabited corner of Westeros. Jon, who had faced the Night King, the Bolton Bastard, and death itself, nearly balked when he caught Tormund’s eye. The Wildling looked surprisingly at ease in the South, snorting loudly at the sight of Jon in all his regalia. The other Northern dignitaries were more stoic. Arya grinned when Jon caught her eye - and pulled a face. Ghost, sat beside her, was panting happily, while Arya stroked his shaggy, white fur. Sam, beside Gilly, was welling up with pride.

Jon was once more in black, but in far finer clothes than he had ever worn in the Night’s Watch, a red cloak, lined with fur, around his shoulders. His hair, still long and unruly - just how Dany liked it, had been tied back for the ceremony. At his side, her hand in his, Daenerys was similarly dressed in black and red, her long white hair unbraided for once and falling in soft, lazy curls down her back. She caught his eye and smiled at him, discreetly squeezing his hand as they walked the length of the hall. 

They took their seats at the same time, looking out over a hall crammed full of friends and strangers alike, lit by a thousand candles and more. The High Septon raised a chalice and addressed them all to be silent, before beginning the coronation ritual.

Daenerys sensed Jon’s unease as the Septon droned on - despite being a Targaryen, he had never been a worshipper of the Seven, but had been raised to follow his mother’s Northern Gods. Her hand over his on their thrones’ shared armrest, she gave it another light squeeze. They would have another ceremony later, out in the forest, where his Old Gods would hear him. 

The Septon turned to her and Daenerys felt herself stiffening as the iron crown was placed upon her head. 

“All hail Her Grace, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Defender of the Dawn, Mother of Dragons and Breaker of Chains, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” The Septon stepped back, allowing the Hall to see Daenerys atop her throne, the crown resting atop her pale hair. A cheer rang out and, from somewhere outside, Daenerys caught the faint roars of Drogon and Rhaegal, disappointed at not being part of the celebrations.

The Septon turned then, lifting another crown. Jon stiffened, dry-mouthed, as the man leant over him, resting the crown atop his head. It was heavier than it looked, but it did not fall off, and Jon felt his tension begin to ease as he looked out over the Hall. 

“All hail His Grace, Aegon Targaryen of Houses Targaryen and Stark, Sixth of His Name, the Resurrected, Defender of the Dawn, the White Wolf, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the First Men and the Free Folk, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” Another hearty cheer rose up from around the Hall. 

“I present to you,” the Septon said, turning back to the Hall, “your King and Queen.” Only a miracle then stopped the roof of the Hall from being blown off by the rambunctious applause. 

As things settled and people turned their attentions to the feast and to the drinks, Jon turned to Daenerys, the relief clear on his face. They were about to be swarmed with well-wishers, but Jon took her hand and raised it to his lips. A warm wave coursed through her as she looked over to him and, deep from within, a new life stirred and fluttered.

Spring had truly arrived.


End file.
